Wide Awake
by shippingslut
Summary: A Richonne one shot based off the prompt: Your OTP is at a boring dinner at some ASZ function, probably hosted by Deanna. One of them reaches under the table to finger/jerk off their partner while everybody is eating their dinner and the other is struggling not to lose it. The prompt is courtesy of twdotpprompts.


A weaker man would have already fallen asleep, their head would have already collapsed into the soup bowl in front of them. But Rick had never considered himself weak. And that pride was one of the few things keeping his eyelids open while Deanna talked on endlessly, her words not really absorbing into his brain. All Rick knew was that when this dinner was over he was going to sleep like a baby, sleep better than he probably had in years. That was, if he even managed to finish the meal.

It wasn't that he didn't pity the woman. In fact, that pity was another thing keeping him awake. It was what forced them all to keep humoring her every week when she insisted on dinner at her house. But even if Deanna was suddenly lonely after the death of Reg, it didn't change the fact that her weekly dinners were slowly starting to drive him insane. And judging by the looks of everyone else around the table - Michonne, Aaron, Eric, Daryl, and Carol, they all agreed. Carol was making polite chit chat but her eyes were glazed over. Eric and Aaron kept shooting each other frustrated glances and Rick wasn't even entirely sure Daryl was awake. The other man had a knack for sleeping while sitting up, a habit learned out the in the wild, and if Rick had any money to bet he would've bet heavily on the chance that Daryl was already gone to the world, making Rick finally understand why Daryl refused to cut his hair. It served a purpose, hiding his closed eyes to everyone there.

Even Michonne, who was trying harder than anyone from their group to make peace with the people in Alexandria, seemed to be growing tired of the weekly chats about pasta makers and scrap booking. They'd all ran out of meaningful things to say to each other weeks ago, especially in a community so small. Even the discussions about re-enforcing the walls and future runs had eventually ran dry and now they were left with topics that Rick would have happily skipped, or slept through.

And judging by how awkwardly quiet everyone else was, they also didn't find the topic of Deanna's allergies all that exciting.

Using every bit of energy he had, Rick glanced over at Michonne sitting to his left and wasn't even surprised to find her yawing, trying to hide it with a hand over her mouth. And when her eyes met his they looked just as glazed over as everyone else's, even when a guilty smile lit up her face.

"Let's go."

Rick didn't actually say the words out loud but mouthed them to her instead, a desperate plea to leave. Surely if Michonne would agree it couldn't be that horrible of a thing to do. She was his compass, after all. When Michonne said something was wrong, it usually was, and vice versa. And right now he was pleading with his eyes for her to give him that permission, to tell him it was okay.

Instead she shot him a look of pity, feeling his pain, but shook her head.

He didn't even try to hide his frustration. With a heavy sigh he turned back to his plate, stabbing at his food with renewed hatred. Rick felt like a little boy being forced to stay and eat his brocoli, except it wasn't the taste of the food that was making him want to stomp his feet and run away, but his boredom instead.

Still, he took a bite, reminding himself to be grateful. There had been a time when he would have sat through anything if it meant getting a meal. All he had to do now was make it through one more night of Deanna's conversation to feel full and that paled in comparison to things they'd had to do in the past to find a bite to eat. At least that was what he thought anyway, until the topic of conversation turned to him.

"Rick, have you put any thought into what we were talking about yet?"

As soon as Deanna asked the question, Rick looked towards her at the head of the table, utterly confused. They'd talked about many things and his brain was too fried to remember any of it. Much less whatever it was she was hinting at. Everyone else sat there quietly, the only sounds in the room were that of silverware clanking against plates, all eyes on him.

So he said nothing too, not that he really had the energy to speak anyway. His eyes were starting to feel dry, his entire body just wanted to shut down.

"Remember? I mentioned that Jessie wanted to start up a play group for the kids to keep her busy. She wanted to know if she could take Judith."

Rick might have been half asleep, but he was awake enough to know that he wasn't going to let anyone outside of his family babysit his daughter.

"Still thinkin' about it." He finally answered, feeling everyone's stare on him.

"Well, I think it'd be good for her. Babies need to be engaged. And I know it isn't your fault, but I can't imagine she got much stimulation out there."

"No. I guess she didn't."

Rick wasn't in the mood for the conversation, and not just because it was something he'd already felt guilty over for far too long. He knew just as well as the older woman sitting there that being strapped to a back was no place for a developing mind. Judy hadn't gotten a chance to explore her environment or nearly enough one on one attention. There'd been no Little Einstein videos for her or even patty cake.

But that wasn't what kept him quiet. He was just too tired to put up a fight. Even when Aaron came to his rescue and attempted to take the heat off of him did Rick even glance towards the other man to show his appreciation. No, he just stared down at his plate, wishing the veggies and meat would disappear so he could go.

"I think Judith is quite bright considering her circumstances."

That was all Rick really heard Aaron say before he completely tuned out again, ignoring when they started debating his daughter's milestones without him. Normally the subject would have sent him flying out of his seat, ready to once again remind the lonely woman sitting there that sometimes survival had to come before everything. It even had to come before nursery rhymes and age appropriate toys.

But there was no fight left him in that moment. Just the desire to leave.

And the defeat must have been radiating out of him. Maybe it was his weak posture, or his heavy eyelids, or even his refusal to join a conversation that usually would have worked him up. Whatever it was though, Rick knew the moment that Michonne really picked up on it, the exact moment when she understood how very desperate he was to get out.

It was right when Rick felt her place her hand on his thigh underneath the table, giving him a reaffirming squeeze.

That alone was enough to jolt him awake.

They rarely touched each other.

Not that Rick didn't want them to. In fact, he did. Very much so. It was why he never had the courage to reach out and grab her hand, or her thigh, or any part of her body he could have gotten his hands on. It was why on the few occasions Michonne had been the one to take that first step and touch him that he never knew what to say or do next. Because the smallest amount of contact between them meant so much to Rick, almost too much.

But the lingering stares weren't enough anymore. And he was definitely getting tired of the dance they always did - telling each other the truth with their eyes, but nothing else. There was a giant elephant in the room, one he hadn't quite worked up the courage to acknowledge and every time Michonne seemed ready to do it for him, Rick froze.

Just like he did then, with her fingers wrapped around his thigh, Rick refused to move a muscle.

Suddenly the chattering that had moments before been grading on his nerves didn't seem to matter. All he could concentrate on was her grip on his leg, the one that had started with a few comforting pats but was now turning into slow, hard strokes. She'd start as his knee and slowly rub up his thigh, a little higher each time.

Finally, he got the nerve to glance her way, discovering a small smile tugging on her lips.

Maybe his desperation was to blame for the question he finally had the courage to ask. Not one spoken aloud, but with a tilt of his head and his brow crinkled in confusion. What was she doing?

"You should eat." She told him, refusing to answer.

At least not with what she was saying. But the answer finally came, in the form of a quick wink of her eye, one Rick almost missed. Because as soon as she did it, he felt her fingers climb higher than they had so far, very patiently up his thigh, her fingertips faintly grazing over the head of his cock through his jeans.

And as soon as it happened, Michonne quickly glanced away with a straight face, like her hand wasn't currently stroking over his leg.

He didn't know what to do. Or to think. Instead, he looked away too, straight down at the food but not actually seeing it. Rick's focus was officially on what was happening underneath that table, not what was on it.

It didn't seem real.

Not even when her hand continued to move down his leg, all the way to his knee, then patiently back up, her fingers grasping and squeezing him as she went. And even if Michonne was still trying to comfort him, Rick was positive that she'd never meant to go quite so far up, that her fingers brushing over his cock had been a mistake. Because the next time she got close, her hand stopped before making contact, her fingertips pressing into his sensitive inner thigh instead. The steady gentle massage she gave him made Rick's stomach tighten as he internally pleaded for her to move her hand just a little, to make that connection again. He was practically holding his breath, begging for her to do it, but instead she touched him anywhere but the place he wanted her to.

"The food was delicious."

When Rick heard her speak, his head immediately turned in her direction, disbelieving how genuine she sounded, how easy going her voice was.

All the while her hand continued to stroke his inner thigh, refusing to brush against him again, before journeying back down.

His eyes darted around the table, checking the face of each person sitting there. And none of them seemed to realize that underneath table she was trying to kill him, that with each brush of her fingers, his cock was hardening in jeans, painfully fast. Carol had no idea that already the denim was squeezing him too tight, making his sensitive flesh ache. Daryl was sleeping through Rick having to fight the urge to allow his ass to rise out the chair, forcing the hard bulge in his jeans against Michonne's hand. And Aaron, who was sitting across from him, was clueless to the fact that Rick was staring at him, but not really seeing him, too busy concentrating on Michonne's hand when it answered his silent prayers and grazed over his cock again, this time pressing harder, her fingers tracing the shape of every stiff inch through his jeans.

Rick had no idea what had gotten into her, why she'd decided that sitting there at that table was finally the moment to cross the line in the sand between them.

But he wasn't about to ask either.

Because he knew if he opened his mouth, words wouldn't come out, but a moan. A moan he was fighting his hardest to suppress as her digits continued to stroke his length over his jeans, pressing harder with each flick of her wrist, almost like she was trying to rub away a cramp. Her fingers would find the base of his cock then edge up ever so patiently, increasing the pressure each time.

"Does anyone want more?"

Deanna's question startled him. She spoke too loud, demanding an answering.

And Rick said nothing while everyone else answered, his fist clenching the fork in his hand just as tightly as the muscles in his thighs were clenched, trying to restrain the pleasure he was feeling from escaping his body somehow. He couldn't moan, couldn't speak, was afraid his breathing was even too obvious. And he certainly couldn't grab Michonne's hand and force her to work over him faster, or unbutton his jeans finally free his aching cock.

Because that was what he wanted.

How long had he waited for a moment like this? For her skin to be against his? If it hadn't been for how good she was making him feel, using the heel of her palm to pet him with brutal, quick strokes, he might have killed her. But how could he wanna kill a woman that was currently making his balls swell and tighten in his jeans, forcing his body to yearn for a release?

He couldn't, not really. As awkward as she was making him, sitting there with his jaws clenched tighter then they'd ever been his life, his head tilting to help ease the discomfort of fighting the gratification, Rick wouldn't have asked her to stop if his life depended on it.

Not even when her hand found that perfect, steady rhythm, inflicting quiet blow after quiet blow under the table, milking the first few drops of cum from him.

"Rick, do you want some more?"

Aaron's question threw him off, forcing him to finally look the other man in the eye. And Rick was terrified at what Aaron might see there. Were his eyelids flickering? His hands shaking? Was the sweat dripping down his brow too obvious in the cool room?

But if Aaron noticed anything off, he said nothing. Instead his eyebrows just shot up, waiting on Rick to answer, answer a question that Rick couldn't remember.

"Sorry?"

The statement barely made it out of his mouth. Because as soon as his lips opened, Michonne opened her hand once again, using all of her fingers to rub and stroke down his cock, grasping the width in her hand, not leaving a single inch untouched.

And knowing Michonne had such a hold on him was almost too much bare, how greedy her fingertips were under that table, even if next to him, her expression was still unshaken.

"Do you want another helping?" Aaron asked again, this time his eyebrows crinkled in suspicion, probably wondering why the idiot across from couldn't manage to get out a few words without flinching.

Rick knew he had to stop his body from wanting to tremble. Squeezing every muscle tighter, he refused to give into it, even if Michonne was still at work, her fingers pressing harder than ever before, getting him so close he wanted to cry.

But instead he had to speak. An act that was almost as painful as holding back the release that was quickly approaching.

"No more." He grunted, praying to God Aaron didn't notice the way his voice shook.

There was no time to pay attention to the reaction around the table though. Because as soon as he spoke, the second he was positive he was one stroke away from reaching his peak, Michonne immediately stopped what she was doing, pulling her hand away like it'd all been dream.

And if Rick had wanted to cry before, he definitely wanted to then.

His cock was aching, confined against his thigh, burning his flesh. He could feel the slow trickle of precum come to an abrupt halt, his balls tightening in protest.

"You don't want anymore?" Michonne asked, finally turning his way since she'd started the cruel torture she'd just put him through.

Her eyes were shining, her smile, knowing.

And while the two of them might have known exactly what she was talking about, Rick knew everyone else there was still clueless. They were all busy adding more portions to their plates, discussing flavors and how nice it was to no longer hunt for a meal. No one was paying them any attention at all when he finally met her eyes, admitting the truth.

"Feels like I'm about to burst." He answered, making the smile on her face wider.

And he did feel like he was about to burst, but not from the meal. But because his dick was still painfully hard, begging to be paid more attention. She'd left him hanging at the worst possible moment, or maybe the best. Rick wasn't sure what was worse. The pain between his legs or the humiliation he'd feel if he actually did get to cum right there at that table.

"Well, you should unbutton your pants then." She told him, raising her voice to call attention to their conversation. "That's what I do when I eat too much."

All eyes were on them suddenly but Rick refused to look away from Michonne. He knew exactly what she was doing, the challenge she was giving him. It shouldn't have surprised him, but it did. Maybe he had seen this woman take lives and kill enough walkers to fill an island, but he'd never seen this coming. It took a lot more balls than almost anything they'd ever done and even when he thought he couldn't love her more, the suggestion proved him wrong, forcing a wicked smirk to take shape on his face.

"Yes Rick, please. Get comfortable. You're around family now."

He barely heard Deanna's suggestion. He was too busy staring down the woman next to him, her fingers drumming against his thigh again, waiting.

"Yes Rick," Michonne echoed. "It's okay to let go."

If he'd had a camera, he would have captured the look on her face in that moment and saved it forever. How long had he wanted Michonne to look at him like that? To openly acknowledge what was between them?

That was all it took for him to play along and shrug, pretending that he'd overeaten as he unbuttoned his jeans, unzipping them too while he had the chance. And as soon as everyone was done laughing along with him and their attention was once again back on each other, Rick met Michonne's eyes again, tilting his head and licking his lips.

"That'll feel a lot better." He told her, once again turning away.

And sure enough, as soon as the conversation around them picked up again Rick felt her hand return to where it'd been. Except this time instead of touching him through the denim, his stomach actually contracted when she reached through the opening he'd just created and her fingertips brushed against his actual flesh. That alone was enough to make his cock jerk, begging to be touched.

And he was past the point of trying to be inconspicuous.

Hell, let them all realize that Michonne's hand was currently in his jeans, her fingers brushing against his dick, rubbing him into ecstasy. Rick wouldn't have cared if Deanna had stood up in that very moment and told them to stop. Rick would have stayed put, relishing in the sensation of his body finally getting the relief it'd needed for far too long, creating ripples of pleasure that started to spread through his entire body.

No. When her grip found that sweet rhythm again, Rick just stared down at the table, wishing like hell he could see through it.

He wanted more than anything to watch as she worked him, to actually see her fingers pressed against his skin. It wasn't fair that a moment he'd waited so long for had finally came and he had to pretend it wasn't happening. And it was taking every bit of self restraint he had.

Michonne was grinding her hand against him in harsh strokes, but careful ones. She couldn't work the entire length of his dick, too afraid she'd shake the table, instead she had to settle for inflicting as much pleasure to one spot as she could. And it was working. The pressure inside of him was building, his muscles squeezing tight as she got him closer and closer.

Rick did everything he could not to rouse suspicion, but it was impossible to completely cover his tracks.

Biting his lip until he tasted blood, he at least stifled the groans that wanted to fly past his lips. But that was about all he could do. In fact, he even placed one of own hands under the table, right on top of Michonne's, forcing her to stay put. A silent plea to keep at it, putting as much pressure on himself as he could.

He felt his balls pulsing, matching his heart beat, could feel the ache inside him bursting to be set free.

Daring one last glance around the table, praying his eyes didn't roll into the back of his head while he did it, Rick made sure no one was paying them too much attention. And it was a blessing that Deanna still hadn't ran out of boring topics to numb their brains with. Aaron, Eric, and Carol were all still staring her way, nodding along with whatever nonsense that was coming out of her mouth. Daryl was still oblivious to it all.

Rick, on the other hand, had never felt more on fire, more alive.

Michonne quickened her pace and Rick knew he had to give in.

Finally, staring down at the table again he let his head sink just a little as he shut his eyes, not caring who thought it was odd. All that mattered was that she didn't stop, that when his cock started to throb he removed his hand from hers, letting her get him there all on her own.

With his eyelids clenched as tight as he could get them, Rick let his mind wander, allowed himself to imagine that he was slipping into Michonne instead. He fantasized about how wet she'd be, how tight, how her walls would start to flutter at first until finally they'd wrap him tight in her warmth as she milked him dry. And it was that thought that sent him over the edge, combined with him losing every bit of his inhibition and very carefully rising his hips to meet her strokes.

When his balls finally seized tight and his cock jerked, Michonne's hand was there to cover the steady, harsh flow of his sticky load, preventing him from completely making a mess.

And it felt so good to finally lose it that Rick didn't care that his hands were gripping the tables edge, that he half moaned and then coughed to cover the sound. All that mattered was that the ache in his stomach was leaving little by little, each time his dick released another spurt into her hand.

"God."

The word was out of his mouth so fast that his eyes snapped open, his body still reeling from the release he'd just experienced. It forced Michonne's wet hand to jerk out of his jeans and onto her own lap, no doubt trying to wipe away the evidence of what they'd just done.

"What was that?" Carol asked, looking towards him confused.

Rick swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath. Trying to think of a good recovery.

He had none.

All he had was a body that was officially spent and a feeling of satisfaction like nothing he'd had in too long.

"God...that was a good dinner." He said, looking around the table, not quite being able to hid the smile on his face.

He was aware that he probably looked half crazed. His heavy eyelids forcing themselves open and wide, sweat dripping down his brow, laughing because he was so relieved that they'd gotten away with it.

"It was a really good dinner." He went on again, not caring anymore.

They were all staring at him, Deanna nodding along, not quite understanding his sudden excitement when moments before he'd been mute.

No, he was officially wide awake.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." She told him, her eyes scanning the table, finding everyone else just as confused.

And before anyone could comment on the crazy smiling man that had suddenly joined them, Michonne spoke up, saving them the trouble.

"Yes, thank you." She said, still rubbing her palm down her jeans underneath the table, trying her hardest to sound serious.

But Rick could see the smile tugging on her face, so close to breaking her cover that he knew they needed to get out of there before they both broke into a fit of giggles.

"We should probably get going though." He covered for her. "Carl's home alone with Judith."

He wasn't entirely should he could get up. His legs felt weak, his body more relaxed than it had been in ages. Plus, he still needed to zip up his pants and pray the wet spot wasn't too big. But all it took was for Michonne to speak again, her words almost making him jump out of his chair.

"Yeah, we should go. Plus, I think Rick has dessert waiting for me at the house."


End file.
